Colleague
by Basser
Summary: TBB's 'friend/colleague' scene from Sherlock's point of view. Another character motivation study.


**A/N:** _More internalised Sherlock, horray! This one references my other fics pretty heavily, so if anything gets confusing or doesn't seem to make sense that would be why. Also writing this sort of made me want to punch John in the face._

* * *

John's password is the serial number of his gun.

He'd tried it on a whim, wondering if it were really possible for anyone to be so predictable. It was. He stares at the laptop for a moment, trying to decide if he should turn it off or not. Using his own computer would be less annoying, considering John's complete lack of coherent desktop organisation, but his laptop's all the way in his _bedroom. _He glances up at the doorway, thinking maybe he'll go get it anyway, but _good god_ that's yards and yards away. A veritable _sea_ of gently undulating, pulsing hardwood bucking over itself like ocean waves.

It probably shouldn't be doing that, he notes vaguely. Looks around the rest of the room; just as distorted, spinning dizzy around his head in a haze of twisting vertigo. Hmm. Perhaps the fourth nicotine patch hadn't been such a good idea. (But _ugh _after the fight with the swordsman everything had just seemed so _boring_ and he'd needed something to _do _but there was _nothing_ so he'd... well, he'd almost done something stupid, to be perfectly honest, but stopped himself at the last minute. More patches, then, always the better option.)

Well at least he has a laptop handy now, even if it seems to have been set up with the express goal of being as inefficient as possible. Should try to get some work done while he waits for the nicotine rush to wear off. He leans his elbows on the wooden table and goes about checking his email.

Spam, spam, message from Lestrade, spam, Mycroft being a git, more spam... Wilkes?

_Sebastian_ Wilkes? Seb? From _Oxford?_ What on earth would _he _want?

Opens the message. Casually-worded email, idiotic use of the word 'buddy' as if Sherlock doesn't remember perfectly well what their brief period of acquaintance ultimately amounted to. Wants Sherlock to look into an 'incident' for him. Vague terminology, intentionally sparse on details, request to meet in person. Must be some sort of security risk, a break-in perhaps or an internal dispute - something he doesn't want his shareholders catching wind of. Probably dull as anything. For a moment he's set on just deleting it.

But then John walks in, and he finds himself reconsidering. Well, it _might_ not be dull. Where's the harm in taking a look? A short cab ride, poke around a little. Wouldn't be too much bother. And more than worth the hassle if the case actually turns out to be interesting.

Not that he particularly cares to see Seb again, but the draw of a potential new puzzle is tempting enough to suffer through a few minutes with the smarmy prat. _Especially_ if it turns out to be somewhat complicated. Dangerous, maybe. John would like that. Yes, alright, he'll go. And so will John.

Curiosity and anticipation take root in his mind. And if underneath it all there's a tiny spark of self-righteousness... well, so what? He's entitled to be egotistical sometimes _(okay a lot more than sometimes) _and if the thought of shoving his recent acquisition of a real actual _friend_ in Seb's stupid face is currently making up a not-entirely-insignificant fraction of his motivation for going to meet his old classmate then so be it.

John, as ever, trails after him without so much as a pause for clarification. _We're going to the bank,_ and that's all the needs to know. Sherlock should really find more military acquaintances. They're quite brilliant to have around. (Or maybe it's just this particular one?)

A short cab ride later and they're pushing their way through decorative glass doors, up to a reception desk. Not five minutes after he gives his name they find themselves being led to a sleek, modern office. They don't have so much as a chance to sit down before Seb walks in.

He doesn't look much different to how Sherlock remembers him. Perhaps a little more plump, well-cut suit, hideous tie which nonetheless must have cost a small fortune judging by the material. Doing quite well with his career. Still as much of a smarmy prat as ever, but then Sherlock hadn't really expected anything else from a man like Seb.

They shake hands, and Sherlock introduces John... as his _friend._ Hah, take _that_ Sebastian. You smug bas-

_Colleague?_

Sherlock carefully forces his features to remain blank as he stares sidelong at John. _What?_ They're...? He hadn't- but he'd _thought- _but then Seb is glancing back at him with that stupid smug _knowing_ look and he has to shove the whole topic out of his brain before the sick bolt of disappointment makes itself apparent on his face. Tells himself he _knew_, really. He did. Know it. All along. That they were just... business partners. Of course. Obvious.

But then unbidden the first night pops into his head, involuntary, unexpected _unwanted_ shattering his careful illusion. Serial killers and powder burns and giggling at crime scenes, laughing in the hall while John stands perfectly steady on his own two feet his cane left behind in the restaurant and _bloody hell John how the hell do you define friendship if not-!_

Ugh, no. No no no no stop thinking about it. Obviously he's made an error in judgement. Doesn't happen often but it _has _happened and sod it all, he needs to find something else to focus on before he drives himself mad with this confused tangled illogical mess of thoughts.

Focuses on Seb instead, because at least once upon a time he knew where he stood with _this_ smarmy prat. The watch jumps out at him, right time, wrong date. He uses it as a conversation starter. Politely, properly, Normal Sherlock. Or as much as he can remember how. Go for the old regular human persona, he thinks, and don't draw attention.

But even that fails. _It's not a trick_, how many times has he said that? To Seb, to Victor, to _everyone_ and it's still 'oh Sherlock how did you manage such a _miraculous feat?'_ How? _How? _I looked at your _stupid watch_, you bloody idiot, it's _right there!_

Seb is smirking, talking like a smug cheshire cat. Old memories. Breakfasts in the formal hall, seeing the rumpled clothing untidy hair sleepless eyes how _obvious_ but he'd never known what constituted friendly ribbing and what would be disturbing. The others laughed and joked about such things but he'd learned quickly to keep his mouth shut. Because what they saw and what _he_ saw were on entirely separate planes of existence. They noticed the way someone yawned, the bags under their eyes and took the mick out of them for 'being up late with that fresher girl'. But _he_ noticed the way they winced when they sat down, the flecks of aftershave the smell of men's deodorant - but not their_ usual _brand no that was _Adric's_ brand and the way they looked at each other the slight nervous blushing and _he_ knew what had really happened. _He_ knew their 'secret' (but it's not a secret, it's _not_ because it's written over _every single thing_ and why can't anyone else _see_). And so it was Sherlock who pointed these things out, not realising he was the only one who noticed. He became the freak, the outcast, the psycho.

_Put the wind up everybody. We hated him_. Well good, because I hated you too.

Seb's being obnoxious. That's no surprise, he's always been obnoxious. But Sherlock glances sidelong and John is smiling, exasperated rolling his eyes in _that_ way. That way that means he agrees with the sentiment. They're _both_ against him now, and this isn't at all what he'd had in mind but no no, he'd only come for the possible case, remember? Wasn't any other reason. And the watch is right there and it's _still so obvious_ but he's outnumbered here, he's the Freak again. He's always been the Freak. _(And maybe that's why John doesn't...?)_

No, no don't think. Just be normal.

Normal Sherlock. It's been _years_ but he thinks he can still manage the proper facial expressions. Comes up with a plausible excuse for his illicit_ (-oh fucking hell it is _not_, the watch is _right there _you bastards for god's-)_ knowledge within milliseconds, nice and believable. Normal Smile. Normal Words. There, see? Is _that_ what you wanted, Seb? Back to how things were those last few months at uni, back when I was _normal?_

Seb laughs, and everything's fine again. Whether the man sees through his lie or not Sherlock isn't sure. Eight years is a long time, and though _he_ remembers those months with frightening clarity _(the clarity of ice, and of soft white snow and pristine perfect ordered chemically-saturated thoughts) _he's not sure if Seb does. If his abrupt personality change and the long slow spiral down into the depths of hell have stuck with anyone else or if it's only Sherlock whose thoughts chase round and round wondering how things could have gone differently.

Probably just him, he decides, because Seb is evidently too much of an oblivious moron to catch the old trick.

(And this one really _is_ a trick, though it's one they never really seemed to notice. Because he used to be so_ brilliant _at it, used to be flawless, impossible to detect the transition - freakish to normal in one seamless shift. John would probably prefer him that way, come to think of it... should have tried it earlier, before the whole _friend_ business. But it's so much more difficult now, he always forgets to keep the act up. How did he ever manage to...? Oh. Right. _That_ was how. The calm focus of the snowfield. And nicotine patches are _close_ but they're never quite... but he might still have some of it, back at the flat... clear white vial amongst the chemistry supplies... he could... no.

No no no John would be angry.

But wait, John isn't even his _friend _so why should he care? What's stopping him from- _argh_, no! _Mycroft._ Mycroft would be angry. Mycroft would be _furious_. And he'd find out in a heartbeat so stop thinking about it. Stopstopstop.)

They leave the office, tour the facility. Go over the break-in and all its little discrepancies and that's good, really it's a godsend because he desperately needs to think about other things for awhile. Seb tries to offer him some exorbitant payment, which quite frankly he can shove up his-_ alright_, no, back to the case. Not thinking about anything but clues and facts and yellow spraypaint actually should go get a picture of that before some moron decides to have the portrait restored.

Sherlock stalks off, ignoring John, because _who cares _what his _colleague _does. He doesn't notice when his hands tuck into his coat pockets, when his shoulders hunch ever so slightly and his face draws into a glower as he ascends to the upper floor where the crime scene is. He'll go take those photographs, do a quick sweep of the compromised office and then _leave._

Of course it doesn't go that way. He gets sidetracked haring around the columns, checking lines of sight. But that's fine. That's _good_ honestly because he has a lead now. Names to go on. Almost manages to forget about his _colleague_ but then John turns up again. Sherlock's already got everything he needs to move on, didn't need John's help in the _slightest_, so they end up taking the lift back down together.

John's following along behind him, nattering on about their meeting with Seb. _You said that just to irritate him._

Sherlock has to smirk at that one. It's such a childish oversimplification. But then John goes on to ask about the watch... and alright maybe he's just a _colleague_, but at the very least he's a colleague who speaks to him without being obligated to, who trails around after him with that gobsmacked expression every time he does something clever and says _'brilliant'_ like he's actually _interested_ by Sherlock's deductions instead of disturbed or annoyed.

So Sherlock dutifully explains, and John chimes in at all the right moments and listens without interrupting or getting confused or upset. And evidently that's not friendship. That's... professional acquaintance. That's _colleague._

Sherlock's never had a friend, not really, so he has no way of telling when _colleague_ makes the official transition into _friend._ It hasn't yet, and maybe it never will. But this is probably the closest he's ever going to get, considering who he is and _how_ he is. John will move on eventually, find someone less freakish to trail around after. And maybe _they'll_ be friends, and John will be very happy. But for now...

The bottom line right now is that for the time being, Sherlock has company. He's not alone. It's _them_ investigating the case instead of just _him._ That's what's important here. Colleague or friend - just words. Silly pointless labels. Makes no difference in the end, because the distinction doesn't bother him.

It_ doesn't matter_.

... It doesn't.


End file.
